


The Figures Slumbering in the Stone

by ratherastory



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Deaf Clint Barton, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 02:43:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2906249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratherastory/pseuds/ratherastory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson and the other Agents rescue Clint from a Hydra base, but not before the scientists performed a dangerous experiment on him, trying to replicate the super-soldier serum, that caused him to regress both physically and mentally. With limited resources at his disposal, and the worsening side effects of the GH.325 threatening to overwhelm him, Phil now has to cope with the potentially permanent loss of his partner as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Figures Slumbering in the Stone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sian1359](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sian1359/gifts).



> Well, for my first foray into writing for the C/C fandom, this story sure tried to eat my brain. It's only half of your prompt, dear recipient, as I couldn't quite work my way around to de-aging Agent May. I'm just not familiar enough with the AoS crew to be comfortable playing around with her character that way. For the same reason, I ended up not having any of the AoS characters play a hugely important role in this story. Obviously, I need to re-watch some more. Also, this story became a lot more about Phil and how he is/isn't coping at the beginning of Season 2 than it was about anything else.
> 
> I hope you like it anyway!
> 
> This is set in early Season 2, somewhere between Face My Enemy and A Fractured House. I've played fast and loose with the timeline in this story, so if it clashes a bit with canon, well, that's the reason right there. 
> 
> I'd like to take a moment to thank the mods, who were extremely patient with me through my internet woes and multiple missed deadlines on this story. You guys are my rock!

"He'll be fine, Phil."

 

Phil nodded tightly, and deliberately didn't flinch away when May rested her hand on his shoulder. It was bad enough she was watching his every move like a hawk these days (though not without reason, he had to admit), no sense in throwing fuel on the fire.

 

"I know. It's just… they've been holding him for three days. A lot can happen in three days."

 

There wasn't anything to say to that. They'd both been in the game long enough for their imaginations to run wild, and with Hydra sometimes even your wildest imaginings didn't scratch the surface of what they could do to their prisoners.

 

"I should be down there."

 

"No way. You're the Director of SHIELD now, we can't risk you in the field, not even for this. Maybe especially for this. Besides, you and I both know you shouldn't be anywhere except on the helicarrier or else at the Playground. You're not--"

 

"You don't need to draw me a picture!" he snapped, then bit down hard on his own tongue. "Sorry."

 

"Don't mention it."

 

Phil puffed out his cheeks on a slow exhale, then keyed up his radio mic. "Status report, please."

 

There was a moment of silence, during which it felt as though his heartbeat was loud enough to be heard over the radio. Then amidst a crackle of static, Mack's voice came through. "We're securing the premises now, but it looks like they got wind of us just before we got here. There's no one left except a couple of low-levels techs so far."

 

"What about Barton?"

 

"No sign of him yet, sir, but we're still conducting a sweep. Plenty of places we haven't--stand by."

 

It took all of Phil's self-control not to yell. Instead he felt his hands clench around the edge of the holo-table in front of him, palms damp with sweat. Most of it was due to worrying about Clint, at least, and that was a mercy. May kept silent, but he could feel her hovering just beyond his peripheral vision, ready to intervene if he spontaneously lost his mind and started carving weird alien symbols into the walls, he supposed. Not that he could blame her. His track record on that front wasn't exactly stellar, and he was already pushing the limit of the number of days he could go without incident.

 

More radio silence. It stretched on interminably, and Phil realised he was clenching his teeth so hard that his jaw ached. His fingers twitched against the smooth table top, itching to reach for his radio again. There was no point, and he knew it. The team would report in the moment there was anything to report.

 

"Sir?"

 

He made a point of reaching slowly for his radio. "Go ahead."

 

Mack sounded calm, but if Phil had to give a word to his tone of voice, it would have been _uncertain_. "We haven't found Agent Barton yet, but… we have a bit of a situation, here, and… I think we could use your input."

 

"Copy that. I'm on my way."

 

He ignored the look that May gave him, even though he could feel her eyes boring into the back of his skull. If his team wanted him there, then that's where he'd be. If it happened to bring him closer to where Clint was being held, well, that was just a happy coincidence. Besides, no one knew better than May that he hadn't slept for more than a few minutes at a stretch since the news of Clint's capture had reached them. The sooner this was over with, the better for all of them.

 

"I'm coming with you."

 

"Fine."

 

The one thing about Hydra bases that you had to admire was how clean they were, especially their laboratory facilities. Everything was painted white and kept so clean that all the surfaces gleamed. In his rare moments of free time Phil sometimes wondered how they managed it. Sure, the old SHIELD laboratories had been equally impeccable, but SHIELD had a lot of very well-paid cleaning staff to keep it that way. Surely Hydra weren't in the business of spending that much money on details. Maybe they had a small army of brainwashed people to do that. Minions, if you got right down to it. What good was it to be a criminal superpower if you couldn't have minions, after all?

 

Triplett was waiting for him at the intersection of one of the corridors. "This way, sir. It's a new one on me. Every time I think Hydra can't get more despicable…"

 

"You found other prisoners?" Phil had to hurry to keep up with him, although May seemed to have no trouble maintaining her usual stride. It had to be some sort of supernatural ability, but then, nothing he learned about her would have surprised him at this point.

 

"Just the one, but we're having trouble with him. We figured… well, to hear everyone tell it, you're good with kids."

 

There was barely any time to register Trip's words before Phil found himself in what had obviously been an exam room. The room was small, with just enough room in it for the chair in the center, ominously outfitted with leather restraints. He allowed his gaze to linger on the medical equipment lining the walls just long enough to decide he didn't really want to know what it was all for.

 

Mack acknowledged him and May with a nod as they stepped forward. "Either of you want to take a shot at this?" he asked, jerking his head in the direction of the far corner of the room. "'Cause so far, I'm not having any luck."

 

It took Phil a moment to spot the child huddled with his back to the wall. Huddled was probably the wrong word, he decided after a moment. The boy couldn't be more than eight or nine years old, and looked skinny and vulnerable in the too-short white hospital scrubs that had been issued to him, but he wasn't cowering. If anything, the look in the child's eyes was defiant, lending weight to the scalpel he was holding in front of him, silently daring any of them to approach him.

 

When Phil shot him a questioning look, Mack shrugged. "He hasn't said a word since we found him and until the straps. Just jumped up, grabbed that scalpel and tried to shiv me. Won't even tell us his name. It's like he's not even listening to us."

 

"It's not that he's not listening," Phil stepped forward slowly. "He just can't hear you."

 

He'd only ever seen a single photograph of Clint Barton when he was a kid, but he'd recognize those eyes anywhere. Ignoring the flurry of questions directed at him, Phil kept going toward the boy, making sure to telegraph his every move, until he was standing only a few feet away—just outside of the range of the scalpel, in case Clint decided to use it on him afterward. He smiled, dropped to a crouch, and winced when his knees protested the movement. He was getting too old for stuff like this. He lifted his right hand to his forehead and made a saluting gesture.

 

_Hello, Clint._

 

It was gratifying to see an immediate reaction. Clint followed the movement with his eyes, and his shoulders relaxed a fraction. Encouraged, Phil brought his right thumb up first to his forehead, then back down to meet his other thumb before pointing at himself.

 

_Remember me?_

 

There was a pause while the boy appeared to consider him. Finally, however, he shook his head, and Phil felt his heart sink. Still, this was progress. Whatever had happened here, they had time to fix it, or reverse it, just so long as he could convince Clint to cooperate. Easier said than done, knowing how difficult it was for Clint to trust people, even as an adult. It had taken years before he'd let Phil in, and even then there were still things he wouldn't talk about.

 

_My name is Phil. Some bad guys took you, but if you come with me I can take you somewhere safe._

 

"Someone want to tell me what's going on?" Mack's voice was plaintive, and May took it on herself to explain.

 

"Best guess? That's Barton, or some version of him. He's deaf, so if he's not wearing hearing aids, he wouldn't be able to hear you if you were talking to him."

 

Phil tried to tune them out, holding his hand out toward Clint in the hopes that he'd come voluntarily.

 

"That's Barton?"

 

The scalpel never wavered in Clint's grasp, although now that Phil was watching him closely it was obvious that there was no training at all in his stance. This was just a terrified kid trapped in a room surrounded by adults he didn't know who also happened to be armed to the teeth.

 

"I need you to stand down. Go finish your sweep, leave May at the door."

 

"But--"

 

"That's an order! There's no threat here."

 

He didn't turn around, but after a moment's hesitation he heard footsteps heading away, back into the hallway. May was probably ushering them out by sheer force of personality. Clint never moved, but he tracked them with his eyes, although he never looked away from Phil for too long, either. He'd always reminded Phil of a stray cat, always a little wary even when he was desperate for safety and comfort, and never had the resemblance been so strong as it was now. When he was satisfied that they were alone, he fixed Phil with a hard stare and deliberately put down the scalpel, although he didn't move away from the wall.

 

_Where's Barney?_

 

Of course he'd ask after his brother. He was at the age when he and Barney had been living at the orphanage together, and his brother was his only security.

 

_I don't know. Something's happened to you that we don't know how to explain yet. If you come with me, we can try to figure all this out together._

 

"You're lying!"

 

Clint's voice was shrill with fear, and Phil couldn't help but start at the sudden sound in the otherwise silent room. Clint hadn't always been deaf, he knew. In fact, he'd gone deaf as a result of a trauma when he was about six or seven, which meant that he probably didn't know all that much ASL yet, judging by his apparent physical age.

 

Phil shook his head in response to the question, then pressed his thumb to his index and middle fingers together. _No._

 

"You're lying," Clint repeated, quieter this time. "Barney wouldn't leave me."

 

Phil considered his response for a moment. _He didn't leave you on purpose,_ was the answer he decided upon. _You can't stay here, it's not safe. Please come with me._

 

Clint narrowed his eyes. "How do I know it's safe with you?"

 

 _You might not remember me right now,_ Phil chose his words carefully, _but we're friends._

 

"Barney says we don't have any friends."

 

Phil sighed, then turned to look over his shoulder at May, who shrugged. He could see Skye hovering just behind her in the hallway, Mack and Trip standing guard on either side of the doorway. Obviously the sweep of the place had come to a standstill, not that Hydra was in the habit of leaving behind much evidence during their evacuations. Turning back to Clint, he tried a different tack.

 

_Would you rather stay here? Because I have to take my team and go. I'd like it if you came with us, Clint. We're going to get in a big plane and fly back home. How does that sound?_

 

"Oh my God," he heard Skye exclaim behind him. "He's adorable!"

 

Phil rolled his eyes. then held out his hand toward Clint, who was still visibly wary. After a moment, however, he began edging closer. When Phil nodded encouragingly he hurried all the way over, but stopped just short of taking his hand, and Phil tried not to feel disappointed. This Clint had no idea who he was, never mind what they'd had together, complicated as it was.

 

"Where are we going?"

 

_A secret base. Pretty cool, right?_

 

Clint made a face. "That's not home."

 

 _It's where we live right now. It's temporary._ It didn't feel like the right time to launch into explanations about where he and Clint lived at least some of the time. They each hadn't been home much at all since April, anyway. Too much had happened, and Clint was needed elsewhere. Besides, how was he supposed to explain to a nine year old boy that when he was an adult he'd decide to move in with his handler?

 

Skye was bouncing with excitement when they got to the door, and immediately dropped to a crouch so she'd be at eye level with Clint, a grin threatening to split her face in two. "Well, hi there, cutie!"

 

Clint stopped in his tracks, glanced up at Phil, then looked back at Skye. "Who are you?"

 

Skye stuck out her hand, and he shook it, seemingly automatically. "I'm Skye. We only ever met once before, so I'm not surprised you don't remember me. You ready to see the coolest plane ever? It turns invisible!"

 

It was nice to see Clint's face brighten, even if it was brief. Phil made a mental note to have his lip-reading skills evaluated as soon as possible. "Sure, okay." He still hesitated, looking up at the others, and Skye nodded as if she understood.

 

"These are our friends. These big guys are Trip and Mack. Don't let Mack fool you, he's a big old teddy bear, aren't you, Mack?" she teased, elbowing Mack lightly in the ribs. Mack grunted a little, but the fond expression on his face was unmistakable. "And this is Agent May. She's my S.O. You ever get into trouble? She's the one you want coming for you. If you can't get Coulson here, of course."

 

Clint chewed on his lower lip, then slowly slid his hand into Phil's, seemingly unaware he was doing it. Phil decided to take that as an encouraging sign.

 

"Okay," he said, forcing himself to sound cheerful and making sure Clint could see his face. "Let's get out of here."

 

*

 

It was at times like these that Phil missed having Simmons in the lab. Having someone who was experienced in medical was always a bonus, and he was sure Simmons would have helped to make Clint relax a bit. Instead he was poised on the edge of the exam table, his entire body tense, while Trip carefully hooked him up to one of the scanners. Phil stood as close as he could the whole time, trying and failing to reassure him.

 

_I know it's all pretty scary. We just need to make sure everything's okay with you._

 

Clint was unsuccessfully trying to watch both him and Trip at the same time. "But everything's not okay, is it? You're all acting weird, and you keep saying that you know me, but I don't know you. Why are you lying?"

 

"The kid's got you there, Coulson," Trip said, without looking up from his work. "Better to level with him, if you ask me. None of that secretive crap you've been pulling with the rest of us lately."

 

Phil directed a frown in his direction, glad for once that Clint couldn't hear what he was saying. He rubbed the back of his neck, and tried to figure out where to start. "We're not lying, buddy. It's just… hard to explain. Can you tell me everything you remember about being in that lab?"

 

Clint shifted a little on the table, eyes darting toward the exit before settling back on Phil. "I don't know… mostly they just kept me in a room."

 

"What about the rest of the time?" Phil asked, but Clint set his jaw stubbornly and shook his head. "Trip, maybe you could give us some privacy?"

 

"Yeah, sure. I'm done anyway. Just let the scanner do its thing, all right? I'm going to go check on Fitz, see what he's up to."

 

Once he was sure they were alone, Phil pulled up a chair and straddled it, folding his arms over the back. "It's just you and me, now. You can tell me anything, I promise."

 

Clint was watching the door, playing with his fingers, kicking his feet against the frame of the bed. They'd definitely have to find him something better to wear than the white hospital scrubs Hydra had provided and the thin straw-soled slippers that were too big on his feet and forced him to shuffle whenever he walked. To Phil's surprise, he switched to ASL instead of speaking aloud, the way he had done almost exclusively since they'd first found him.

 

_Why can't I remember what happened before?_

 

 _I don't know,_ he admitted. _But we're going to try to find out. What do you remember?_

 

The scanner whirred quietly while Clint appeared to think about it. Normally Phil wouldn't even have registered the noise, but this room had never felt so silent before.

 

_I couldn't understand what they were saying. They didn't look at me much, and I don't think they were speaking English most of the time. I think maybe I was a mistake?_

 

His ASL was better than Phil had given him credit for, that much was apparent. _What do you mean, a mistake?_

 

Clint shrugged. I don't know. _They said something about a serum, and then they wanted me to do things, like run on a treadmill and lift weights and shoot a bow, but I've never shot a bow. They wanted me to run really fast, but I think I wasn't fast enough. We did the same thing every day, but I never got it right._

 

_Did they hurt you?_

 

Clint shook his head, but Phil wasn't convinced.

 

_Clint, is there something else wrong?_

 

There was another long hesitation while Clint played with his hands in his lap. Phil settled more comfortably in his chair, waiting for the internal debate to play out, and wished Natasha were here. She'd been recruited as a child, and she'd always been better at this than Phil. That was why he was a handler and not generally a field operative.

 

_It hurts at night. But I don't think they're doing it._

 

This was a new one on Phil. _What hurts?_

 

_I don't know. Everything. My legs, mostly. And I think I'm bigger than yesterday._

 

Never mind Natasha, Simmons would come in really handy right about now. Trip's training was more than adequate, of course, but Simmons would have been a real asset. But she was busy risking her life at his behest, and the tally of people he was personally endangering was getting depressingly high.

 

What do you mean, bigger?

 

Clint shot him a look that suggested he was dim-witted as well as untrustworthy. _Bigger. I was little a few days ago. They couldn't find any clothes that fit me, and now they're small on me._ He pointed to where his wrist was sticking out of the sleeve of his scrubs.

 

"Okay, that's… weird." Phil caught himself speaking aloud, and switched back to ASL. _Do you think you're growing?_

 

_Maybe. I don't know._

 

That was the first piece of good news today. If Clint was growing, it meant that whatever Hydra had done to him, it wasn't permanent. Whatever other damage that might have done was another matter entirely, however. The scanner stopped whirring, and Phil stood up to get the readout on the console. Clint's eyes grew wider as he watched the holographic screens pop up seemingly out of nowhere, out of delight rather than alarm, Phil was pleased to note. He scratched the back of his neck.

 

"Well, I'm not an expert, but it looks like you're a perfectly healthy nine year old boy."

 

There was a tug on his sleeve. "What did you say?"

 

He turned around immediately. "Sorry, buddy. I said it looks like you're completely healthy."

 

"Okay," Clint didn't look convinced, but Phil thought that, under the same circumstances, he wouldn't be either. "What do we do now? Are you going to take me back to the orphanage? Is Barney here?"

 

"No," Phil put a hand on his shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring way. "It's kind of hard to explain, but the men we rescued you from… they changed you. A few days ago, you were an adult. The serum they gave you, I think it turned you back into a little boy."

 

Clint scrunched up his nose in confusion, and it was uncanny how much he looked like the man Phil loved right at that moment. "What for?"

 

"I think it was a mistake. I think they were trying to do something else, but it went wrong." Like re-create the Super Soldier serum, the way countless scientists had tried before them. It's like they never learned. "The good news is that it looks like it didn't hurt you much." Or turn him into a giant green rage monster, which was definitely a good thing. "How about we find you your very own room? We can figure out the rest of this tomorrow."

 

This time Clint didn't hesitate before taking his hand. "Why can't I stay with you?"

 

"Of course you can," Phil exclaimed, a little startled. "I just thought you might like to have your own room. You know, have a little privacy."

 

Clint stared at his feet as they walked. "I always share with Barney."

 

 _Good job, Phil._ He allowed himself a snort, since Clint wouldn't be able to hear him. Take a scared kid and shove him alone into the cramped, sterile quarters of a SHIELD agent. That was definitely going to reassure Clint that everything was fine. He'd probably never been alone a day in his life up until now.

 

"It's been a long day," he said, then tapped Clint on the shoulder to get his attention. When the kid didn't look up, he tried again, then stopped them completely and took Clint by both shoulders, forcing them face to face. "Don't shut me out, Clint, I'm trying to help."

 

Clint glared, then his gaze cut to the side, effectively refusing to watch his lips or his hands. It was the kind of maddening stunt he'd always pull when he was angry or upset and not ready to talk about whatever was bothering him. Usually the reason was Phil himself, and it looked like not much had changed. Phil sighed. Short of forcing the kid to wear hearing aids so he'd have to listen, there wasn't much to be done, and Phil wasn't about to force more trauma on him than he'd already been subjected to.

 

"Where do you sleep?"

 

The silent treatment was over, almost as quickly as it had begun. At least Clint's attention span was shorter as a kid, it seemed. "Come with me, and I'll show you. The Playground isn't set up to be all that fancy, but I think we can make do. What do you think?"

 

"Playground?"

 

"That's what we call this place. Well, Billy named it, but no one's thought of a better name for it," Phil led the way to his quarters and motioned for Clint to look inside, wishing he'd taken the time to furnish it a little better. It was spartan even by SHIELD standards, with a bed, a desk and a lamp, and only a single photograph on the bedside table. Clint made a beeline for the frame, picking it up before Phil had the presence of mind to try to hide it. He flipped it over in his hands, then turned and held it up for Phil to see, as if he might not already know what it was.

 

 _Who's the other guy?_ he signed.

 

Phil let his head drop for a moment. "It's you. When you're grown up."

 

The photograph itself was innocuous enough, just a picture of him and Clint in a restaurant, with Phil's arm draped casually enough over Clint's shoulders. In any other context, it might look like they were just two friends out for the night, but Clint had always been particularly observant, especially when it came to people. SHIELD might have recruited him for his marksmanship, but they kept him on because he was such a good judge of people. It was a trait common in abused children, Phil had come to realize over the years. They had to learn to read body language, subtle cues that other people would miss, because it was crucial to their survival.

 

Clint ran a finger over both faces in the photograph. "You look happy."

 

"I don't look happy now?" Phil joked, and instantly knew it was a mistake. Clint tilted his head at him, his expression guarded.

 

"No." He put the photograph back. "Are you a queer?"

 

Phil laughed in spite of himself. "That's not a nice word for it, but yeah, I guess I am."

 

"Barney doesn't like queers. He told me I needed to watch out, in case there were any in the orphanage. He said they do bad things to kids."

 

Oh, boy. "Well, I promise I won't do anything bad to you."

 

Clint shrugged. "Grown-up me likes you, so I guess you can't be all bad. Does that mean I'm a queer?"

 

For the first time Phil gave serious consideration to aiding the conversation with a liberal application of alcohol, but given Clint's history, that would probably be a mistake. He felt his fingers twitching at his sides, sweat beginning to trickle down his spine. _Not now,_ he ordered himself sternly. He could lose his mind and start carving alien symbols on the wall once this new crisis was over. He moved over and sat on the bed, then patted the bed in a clear invitation to get Clint to sit next to him. It was a calculated risk, but it paid off. Clint didn't hesitate for a moment before joining him, watching his face closely.

 

 _Okay, Phil,_ he told himself. _Don't screw this up._ "Okay. So, when you get older, you're going to find out that there are lots of different ways people can love each other. Like, you know how your mother loves you isn't the same way that Barney loves you, and it's not the same as when grown-ups fall in love."

 

_You love me?_

 

The question was in ASL, probably because Clint had never been good about talking about his feelings out loud.

 

"I do."

 

_Do I love you?_

 

"Yes, you do. We love each other. But you don't have to worry about that right now. We're going to work on fixing whatever happened to you, and the rest can wait."

 

"Okay."

 

To his surprise, Clint leaned up against him, completely relaxed for the first time since they'd found him. If Barney had made him worry about child molesters, he obviously wasn't worried now. Slowly he put his arm around the kid's thin shoulders and squeezed a little, and was rewarded with a contented sigh. Signing one-handed was always a bit tricky, but he could manage well enough.

 

_Are you tired?_

 

Clint nodded.

 

_How about a nap?_

 

"What if something happens?"

 

_Then I'll wake you. Promise._

 

It didn't take much coaxing to get Clint lying down, and tucked under the covers. In a matter of seconds, he was asleep. For a long time Phil didn't move, just sat beside him, as if the boy might disappear if he took his eyes off him for a minute. Eventually, though, the gnawing, tingling feeling urging him toward the nearest wall threatened to overwhelm him, and he stood, clenching both his fists, and went in search of another distraction.

 

*

 

"Where's the kid?" Skye sauntered into Phil's office as he was pouring himself another cup of coffee.

 

"Sleeping. He's exhausted, so I put him to bed."

 

"You left him alone?" her tone was incredulous.  

 

"May's going to drop in on him now and then, but I think he'll be okay for now. I watched him for a while, too." May had given him an earful about leaving Clint alone too, but really, it was for the best, at least for now.

 

"Until you realised that watching a little boy who isn't your own kid sleep was the height of creepiness?"

 

He smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, something like that."

 

"Any ideas on what happened to him? Or how we're going to fix him?"

 

He grimaced. "Not really. Well, I can take an educated guess as to what happened to him. Hydra. That and yet another failed attempt at the super soldier serum. Fixing it is a whole other kettle of fish."

 

"Damn. Where's Simmons when you need her, right? I mean, what if he just stays this way? Like, he'd have to grow up all over again, and he might not even turn out the same, you know? Although, it would be a pretty interesting nature versus nurture experiment…"

 

"Did you need anything, Skye?" He kept himself from snapping, but only barely. It was early days yet, after all. There was no indication at all that what had happened to Clint was in any way permanent.

 

She dropped into a chair opposite his desk and crossed her legs, then laced her fingers behind her head. "Just checking in on you. You've been making this hermit I know seem like a party-going extrovert. You feeling okay, boss? No alien arts-and-crafts urges that I should know about?"

 

Phil's fingers flexed against his thighs where he was holding his hands under his desk, ignoring his freshly poured cup of coffee. "I'm fine," he said tightly, and she rolled her eyes.

 

"Can we maybe not, with the stoic bullshit? You're not doing anyone any favours. Don't make me get May. She'll kick your ass and enjoy it."

 

"Maybe I'd enjoy it," he rejoined, just to watch the look of revulsion that crossed her face.\

 

"First of all, ew. Second, you're old enough to be my parents, so double ew. Third, I know way more about your love life than I really want to already, which means I know that that is totally not true. Look, Coulson," she leaned forward, big brown eyes all earnest, and if Clint had been here to see it (in his adult form), he'd have laughed at Phil until he ruptured something. "I'm not trying to be a drag, or anything, but you have to admit, you're in bad shape."

 

Phil sighed and sent a silent prayer heavenward for whatever benevolent power might be up there to spare him from well intentioned newbie agents. "What's your point?"

 

"My point is, why are you in your office, trying to look like you're busy, when the man you love is in your quarters, and is currently eight years old and probably frightened out of his mind? You're avoiding him, and he's a kid who can't understand why."

 

"He's asleep," he pointed out defensively, but they both knew it was a weak defense. Under any other circumstances, they both knew wild horses couldn't have dragged him away from Clint's side. Not when he was in trouble. "Okay, fine. I just… I don't want to scare him any more than he already is."

 

"In case you go all crazy-carving-frenzy again?"

 

He didn't answer, but then, he didn't really need to. There was no telling when he'd have another episode, but it was likely to be sooner rather than later. He'd held it together while they were looking for Clint, but he was days overdue already. He tapped the fingers of his right hand against his knee, trying not to meet Skye's ever-so-earnest gaze, then stood up abruptly.

 

"Okay, fine, you win. I'll go back."

 

She grinned and made a show of clapping her hands. "I knew you'd see reason! Besides, it's late, and you should sleep anyway. It'll make you feel way better to have some down time, my hand to God."

 

He snorted to show exactly what he thought of that suggestion.

 

"It's either that or I'll get May to demonstrate choke holds on you until you pass out. I haven't learned that yet, you know. It would be a valuable learning opportunity!"

 

"Don't push it, Skye!" he called over his shoulder.

 

"You got it, boss!"

 

As much as it pained him to do so, he had to admit Skye was right. It did feel good to get back to his quarters and pull on a pair of jeans and a clean t-shirt. Clint was still asleep, curled into a tight ball on one side of the double bed. He didn't stir when Phil carefully lowered himself onto the bed next to him and grabbed his e-reader to pass the time, since he had no plans to sleep anytime in the near future. He was halfway into one of the few biographies of Steve Rogers that he hadn't had the pleasure of reading before, and was enjoying the factual errors a lot more than he probably should. Since it had been published in 2001, he couldn't exactly fault the author for not having a proper grasp on the subject matter. It was either that or the latest spy thriller he'd picked up, and he didn't have the mental energy for the level of annoyance all the mistakes in those kinds of books usually engendered in him.

 

He stuffed a pillow at the small of his back and settled as comfortably as he could, careful not to jostle the sleeping boy next to him, though he needn't have worried. The adult Hawkeye slept with one eye open, even when they were both home and completely safe, but it seemed that Clint was a sound sleeper when he was a kid, though he'd obviously grown out of that with time. Even with his book in front of him, Phil found his gaze straying over to Clint more than once, just to reassure himself that he was still there, that he hadn't somehow vanished while Phil's attention was elsewhere. After a moment he reached over to smooth a stray lock of hair away from the boy's forehead, smiling in spite of himself, before settling back against his pillow again.

 

He must have dozed off, because he awoke with a start to find the room plunged in darkness.  The light on his e-reader had switched off, although it was still lying on his chest where he'd dropped it after nodding off. He blinked dazedly before realizing that it was the sound of quiet whimpering that had woken him. Turning over in the bed he switched on the bedside lamp, only to have Clint flinch away from the light, eyes scrunched shut. Carefully he placed a hand on the boy's thin shoulder and rubbed, trying not to startle him too badly.

 

"Clint, wake up. You're having a bad dream, kiddo."

 

Immediately he felt foolish. It was too easy to fall into old habits, to forget that Clint wasn't wearing the special hearing aids that SHIELD had had made for him many years ago. Clint did stir under his touch, though, opening his eyes and sitting up with a rapidity that suggested he hadn't actually been asleep.

 

 _What's wrong?_ Phil signed, and Clint shrugged. It was starting to become a habit. _You were moaning in your sleep._

 

"I don't know. It hurts."

 

"What hurts?"

 

"I don't know," Clint whimpered, rubbing at his knee with one hand. "Everything. My legs, mostly."

 

Phil considered him for a moment, remembering something he'd said earlier. It was difficult to tell, but Clint did seem a little taller than when they'd first found him, his face a little more defined, matured. If anything, he looked closer to ten or twelve years of age now. If the experimental serum was wearing off, it would stand to reason that Clint was, for lack of a better word, growing back into himself.

 

"I think it's growing pains, buddy. You're getting bigger, and your body's having a hard time keeping up."

 

Clint sucked in a shuddering breath. "Can you make it stop?"

 

An idea flashed through Phil's mind. "I think I can help. Hang on, okay? I'll be right back."

 

He got up, trying not to wince in sympathy when Clint whimpered again, curling back into a ball on the bed. If he was right, then this wasn't life-threatening, even though it was likely extremely uncomfortable. He could remember spending a summer of pain-filled nights when he was fifteen, and the memory was enough to make him sympathetic. Combine that with the fear and confusion of the past few days, and he couldn't blame Clint at all for feeling wretched. He made his way over to the bathroom cabinet and pulled out the half-full tube of Icy Hot he'd started keeping in there ever since his 'dates with the Crazy Wall,' as Skye called them, had started. It was the only thing that kept him feeling remotely human after one of his episodes. Then he picked up a bottle of Tylenol, figuring that a half dose of the adult stuff should be okay for a kid Clint's size, and half-filled the glass by the sink with water.

 

Clint was lying on his stomach when he got back, hands clenched into tight fists. He rubbed a hand gently between the kid's shoulder blades, waiting for him to open his eyes again before helping him to sit up and swallow the Tylenol.

 

_I'm going to take your shirt off. This will help make you feel better._

 

Clint opened one fist long enough to make an "OK" sign at him, and didn't resist when he pulled his t-shirt over his head, baring his torso. He pulled down his pants himself, in a gesture of trust that made a lump form in Phil's throat. He could see goose bumps forming on the boy's skin as it came into contact with the chilly night air. He squirted a generous amount of the cream into the palm of his hand, rubbed his hands together to warm it a little, then began to smear it gently onto the boy's skin. When he was sure Clint had had time to adapt to the sensation he began to rub a little harder, kneading away the knots he could feel in the muscles beneath his fingers, paying special attention to the muscles of his thighs, and moved down to work on his shins, feeling Clint relax under his touch, inch by inch.

 

It felt oddly meditative as he worked. For the first time in months it felt as though he had a purpose again, as though he was not only helping to relieve pain, but to bring Clint back—the real Clint, that was--bringing him forth out of the prison of his own flesh. When he paused to catch his breath, he saw that Clint was asleep again, his expression smooth and free from the slightest trace of pain or worry. In a way, it was almost too bad that he was growing so quickly. The Clint Phil knew and loved had a lifetime of pain and betrayal behind him. This little boy might have the opportunity to start over, have a better life…

 

He sighed as he crawled under the covers and pulled them up over both of them. It was all moot, anyway. There was no telling what would happen when the rest of the serum wore off. And, maybe, if he was honest with himself, it might not be that he wanted Clint to have the opportunity to start over, so much as he wanted it for himself.

 

"Looks like we're both in it for the long haul, kiddo Sleep tight" he said, grateful at least that there was no danger of Clint hearing him, as the next words slipped out almost in spite of him. "I love you."

 

*

 

When Phil awoke it was broad daylight, and the bed was empty. Heart hammering in his chest, he scrambled to his feet, scanning the room for any sign of Clint. He wasn't in the bathroom, was nowhere to be seen anywhere inside Phil's quarters, not that they were that large to begin with. Without bothering to shower, shave, or even brush his teeth, Phil hastily pulled on a clean t-shirt and jeans and darted out into the hallway to look for him. He was halfway down the hall before he realised he could have simply used the coms system to call May or any of the others to ask if they'd seen the boy. He rolled his eyes at himself, but figured since he was already out there he might as well keep going.

 

"Come on, Phil, keep it together," he muttered under his breath. There was no reason to suspect anything bad had happened. If he was a pubescent boy growing at an unnatural rate, there was one logical place he'd head for.

 

"Over here, boss!" Skye called out as he stepped into the commissary. She and May were seated at a table with Clint, whose head was ducked down over the largest plate of pancakes Phil had ever seen in his life. "Me and May have a bet going to see how many of these your boy's going to put away before he's done," she said as he came and joined them.

 

Clint looked up at that moment and grinned a little. "You've got a nice set-up here," he said through a mouthful of pancakes, and May rolled her eyes.

 

"Teenagers."

 

Phil was about to protest that Clint wasn't a teenager, but a closer look told him that might no longer be true. "You're growing like a weed. Literally."

 

Cint didn't reply, but that was because he was too busy tucking back into his pancakes to bother looking at Phil to see what he was saying.

 

May was looking at him with that expression that suggested she could see right through him. "You sleep okay?"

 

"Can't complain. Those pancakes look good, I think I'll get some," he said, if only to forestall all the follow-up questions about his state of mind. It didn't work, unfortunately, as she was still staring holes through him when he got back with a smaller stack of pancakes on his own plate. He stared back, daring her to say anything.

 

"Wow," Skye commented drily. "You could cut the tension with a knife. Hey, kid, slow down. I'm not performing the Heimlich on you if you choke," she reached over and flicked Clint's head. He jerked up and glared at her, affronted, and she grinned. "Slow down," she said again, and he rolled his eyes in response.

 

"Teenagers," May repeated, and Clint must have caught her, because he turned to face her directly.

 

"Like you'd know anything about it. Skye told me you've never been a kid, like Athena."

 

Skye coughed and blushed and made a production out of pouring cream into her coffee rather than face her S.O., and Phil laughed. "Your secret's out, Agent."

 

"Keeping secrets is like the national pastime around here," Skye grumbled, sipping at her coffee.

 

Phil gave her a meaningful look, inclining his head in Clint's direction ever so slightly. "And with good reason. I never agreed with Fury's tendency to have secrets within secrets, but sometimes holding information close to your vest is a necessary evil."

 

"Mixing metaphors isn't, though," Skye stuck out her tongue at him, and Clint snorted with amusement.

 

"Hey, whose side are you on, anyway?" Phil laughed, and Clint grinned.

 

"Hers. For now, anyway."

 

Phil sighed dramatically. "No one is ever on my side."

 

May shook her head. "Depends on how you look at things. How're you feeling?"

 

Immediately Skye turned a concerned look on him. "Yeah. I mean, are you…" she mimicked writing motions in the air.

 

"I'm fine."

 

"Is that why you didn't bother to shave this morning?"

 

"Actually, I was looking for Clint."

 

"You were asleep," Clint said through another mouthful of pancakes, as if the answer were obvious. Maybe it was. "What's going to happen now, anyway?"

 

"Tests," Skye said. "Lots and lots of tests. Sorry, kiddo, but we have to figure out what Hydra did to you. Or, you know, at least figure out if it had any other effects we should worry about."

 

Clint groaned, and Phil didn't blame him one bit.

 

For all his protests at the breakfast table, however, Clint submitted to all the testing with something resembling good grace, at least at first. After a while, though, his good behaviour began to deteriorate. He wriggled and squirmed, tugged at wires, poked at the various machines in the lab, and fidgeted non-stop until Phil was sure even the usually affable Trip was in serious danger of losing his temper.

 

Phil himself wasn't in much better shape. He sat in a chair in a corner of the lab and tried not to let on just how close he was to coming out of his own skin. His head was buzzing with the urge to get up and go back to his office, or his quarters, to just pick up the nearest knife and lose himself in the symbols that danced insistently behind his eyelids.

 

"Mr. Coulson?"

 

Phil's eyes snapped open, and he realised he'd completely zoned out. The realisation wasn't a pleasant one. Clint was looking intently at him, eyes wide. "What?"

 

"Can we stop now?"

 

He looked over at Trip, who nodded. "I don't think there's much more we can get from this. Whatever was in what they gave him, it's wearing off, and that's about all I can tell you. If Simmons were here, she might be able to work her magic, but this is way beyond anything I can make out."

 

As boring as the tests were for everyone involved, Phil had to admit they at least helped to pass the time. There wasn't much in The Playground to entertain a kid Clint's age, until Phil remembered that they had some of the world's most powerful computers at their disposal. A little help from Skye, and soon he had set up a pretty decent gaming center in his quarters, and Clint was seated cross-legged on his black leather sofa, gleefully playing Assassin's Creed, completely blown away by the kind of game he couldn't have imagined in his wildest dreams. Engrossed as he was in the game, though, he still kept an eye on Phil, clearly anxious whenever he was out of sight for too long. Eventually Phil simply grabbed his e-reader and a mug of tea and sat next to him, trying to ignore the flashing of the screen as Clint beat level after level of the game, seemingly effortlessly.

 

"Did we kiss?"

 

Phil jumped a little at the question that came apparently out of nowhere, then turned to look at Clint, who was still staring at the screen, intent on the controls. Even if Phil had answered, he wouldn't have heard anything. After a moment, though, he saw Clint's gaze slide toward him, gauging his reaction. He resorted to ASL, to make sure Clint would understand.

 

_Why do you want to know?_

 

"Isn't that what you're supposed to do? Barney said I should kiss girls if I liked 'em. Do queers do it too?"

 

So that's what this was about. Phil ignored the ache in his chest at the thought that this Clint might never want to be with him. There was no evidence that things wouldn't return to normal.

 

_Yes, but that's not a nice word for it._

 

"So what else did we do?"

 

Like a dog with a bone. Phil shook his head. _I don't think it's something I should talk about with you._ He couldn't for the life of him remember how to sign 'appropriate,' and he was pretty sure Clint wouldn't know that word anyway.

 

Clint huffed, clearly frustrated. He put down the controller and turned to face Phil. "What am I like? I mean, the grown-up me."

 

It was an easy question, and yet Phil wasn't sure how to begin answering it. Finally, he settled on, "Brave. You're one of the bravest men I know."

 

He would have kept going, but Clint appeared not only satisfied with the answer, but puffed up a little in obvious pleasure, and turned back to his video game. _Teenagers_ , he could almost hear May's voice in his head. He tried to turn back to his book, but now that the spell of concentration was broken he found it impossible to make sense of the words. His thoughts kept straying back to the knife he knew was in his desk drawer, his fingers itching to grasp the handle. It felt like pressure mounting just behind his eyes, like a migraine that wouldn't be stopped until he just gave up and let it happen.

 

Somehow he managed to make it through the evening, although he couldn't focus on anything, not even the few anxious questions Clint asked. At dinner he could tell May and Skye were worried, but then they were always worried. There wasn't much he could do about that. When they got back to his quarters, though, Clint confronted him, hands on his hips.

 

"What's wrong?"

 

He tried to brush it aside, even as his head was buzzing more than ever. "Nothing you need to worry about."

 

Cint snorted. "You're acting weird."

 

His fingers flexed and clenched by his side. "I know. I'm sorry. But you don't need to worry about it."

 

"You're lying," Clint said, but his voice sounded oddly distorted, as if he were speaking underwater.

 

Those were the last words Phil heard.

 

*

 

The next thing he knew, he was standing on the far side of the room, inches away from the wall, one hand still pressed up against it. He could feel sweat cooling at the base of his spine and still beading on his forehead even though he felt as though he was freezing. Every muscle ached as though he'd run a marathon, his head throbbed in time with his pulse, and his knees felt dangerously wobbly. Someone was tugging lightly but urgently on his arm. For a moment he didn't move, closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at the wall into which he knew he'd spent the last few hours carving symbols that remained a mystery to all of them. The tugging became more insistent.

 

He looked around, puzzled as to why the person hadn't spoken, until he caught sight of Clint, his hand curled around Phil's forearm, his face scrunched up in the same expression of worry he would have as an adult. He looked older still, more filled out than before. If Phil had to guess, he'd say he must be at least sixteen or seventeen years old by now, if not a little older. At this rate, he'd be back to his old self in another day or two. Supposing the aging stopped at that point.

 

Phil let out a long breath, then dropped the knife to the floor, where it landed with a clatter. "Hey, kiddo."

 

Clint glared, then hit him in the general vicinity of his kidney, though not quite hard enough to incapacitate him. Phil let out a pained grunt.

 

"Ow! Okay, I deserved that. I didn't mean to worry you. You okay?"

 

Clint glared for another few seconds, and then his shoulders slumped. _You've been writing on the wall for hours_ , he signed. _What is that?_

 

Phil just shook his head and stumbled over to the tiny en-suite bathroom to fill a glass of water at the sink. He drained it in a matter of seconds, leaning heavily on the cold porcelain with his free hand, then refilled the glass and drained it again.

 

"Hey!" Clint followed him into the bathroom. "You didn't answer my question!"

 

 _I don't know_ , Phil signed. He lacked the words for this in any language, let alone ASL. "A while ago someone gave me a… a drug, I guess. It saved my life, but it had some long-term side effects no one knew about."

 

"It makes you carve things in the wall?"

 

"Basically."

 

"What is it?"

 

"I wish I knew."

 

All he wanted now was to collapse on his bed and sleep for a week, not that he had that luxury these days. The team needed him more than ever, and now he had Clint to worry about as well. A glance at the clock told him it was just past two o'clock--there was still time to sleep a little before the day got underway. He reached for Clint's arm, relieved when Clint didn't flinch away.

 

"I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted. I'm calling it a night."

 

"Does anyone know about this?"

 

"May does. And Skye. And now you know. Well, you knew before, but you know again now." Phil made his way over to the bed and lowered himself onto it with a small groan of relief as he took the weight off his aching legs. "You didn't call anyone?"

 

Clint sat beside him and shook his head. "I decided to wait. See what happened. I, uh, fell asleep for a while, too," he added sheepishly. "I didn't mean to, but after a while watching you go at the wall with a knife got kind of boring."

 

Phil snorted, but he couldn't help but smile. As an adult Clint had said something very similar. Apparently some things never changed. "I can imagine. Looks like you grew in your sleep again."

 

"Yeah." Clint stared fixedly at the wall, clearly avoiding eye contact. "I, uh… remembered some stuff."

 

There was no hope of talking to Clint if he refused to look at him. Phil was just starting to try to figure out how to try to get his attention when Clint turned and, braced as if he was about to face a firing squad, he lunged forward and pressed their lips together.

 

Phil froze. It was Clint, which would make it so easy to return the kiss, to lose himself in the sensation that was at once familiar and completely alien. He pulled away, as gently as he could, but before Clint's expression could start to close off he cupped his jaw in his hand.

 

"Hey, no, don't do that. I'm not rejecting you, okay?"

 

Clint's jaw clenched. "Could have fooled me. I thought we were--"

 

"Is that what you remembered?" he asked gently, and Clint nodded. There was no telling how much he remembered without pushing, and Phil just didn't have it in him to push. Not tonight. "You're right. We are. But not exactly like this. Not until you're older. And right now, you're… not exactly yourself. And neither am I. Oh, hey, no, Clint…"

 

Clint's whole demeanour had crumpled like paper in the rain. Shoulders drooping, lips pressed so tightly that they'd turned white from the pressure. Swallowing a lump in his throat, Phil leaned forward and slung an arm over the kid's shoulders, unable to keep from noticing how broad they'd suddenly become.

 

"C'mere."

 

To his relief, Clint let himself sag into his embrace, head resting on Phil's chest. "'m sorry," he mumbled. "I just wanted… I don't know."

 

Phil hugged him harder, then freed his right hand in order to sign _sleep_ , using Clint's face instead of his own to emphasise his point, which got him a chuckle. When Clint twisted around to look at him, he smiled.

 

"I'm exhausted, and so are you. Come to bed, okay? We'll figure the rest out tomorrow."

 

It felt positively blissful to strip off most of his clothes and crawl under the bedclothes. Clint slid in beside him and, after a moment's hesitation, shifted over until their shoulders pressed together. After that, the pull of oblivion was too strong to resist, and Phil let himself sink into the soundest sleep he'd had in what felt like years, dreaming of applying his knife to the surface of the nearest wall, of driving it in to the hilt and ripping at the plaster because he knew Clint was there, just beneath the surface, if only he could just get to him..

 

When he awoke bright light was filtering into the room. He was lying curled on his side, a warm, familiar weight pressed against his back, a muscular arm wrapped around him. Clint's large, calloused hand was clasped in his, their fingers entwined, the way they always seemed to end up whenever they shared a bed. He could feel the moment when Clint's breathing changed, when he started to rouse, and kept himself very still, holding his breath, waiting to see if he'd settle again. It couldn't be real, he told himself, but it was too pleasant a dream to wake up from. _Not yet. In a minute,_ he promised himself.

 

Clint prodded him in the back. "Where's my coffee?" he demanded, then moved closer in order to whisper in Phil's ear. "Oh, and good morning."

 

Phil laughed in spite of himself. "Yes," he answered, even though he knew Clint couldn't hear him. "Yes, it is."

 

 


End file.
